13 Spirit Street
by tigress345
Summary: A little land of poetry, drabbles and stories about our fickle friends, the spirits. Oh and every other character, to a certain degree. [I do not hold the ownership card for Rise of the Guardians. Therefore, you cannot sue me if the second movie never comes out. Also, none of the characters is mine.] Rated K - T
1. Fear, Flakes & Fun

**Fear, Flakes and Fun.**

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 **[1] Fear Will Strike -** The booger- I mean boogeyman's profile page. Or at least something similar to what he might have had in his 'About' section.

 **[2] St. Nick** \- Oh, Jolly old Saint Nick and all his funny little habits.

 **[3] 1,2,3 All The Snowflakes Fall** \- Sneaky little Jack, sneaking fun into everything.

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 **Fear will strike**

 _He's somewhere in the shadows, this I know,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 _His thirst for fear will in time slowly show,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 _He has a nasty bite, but a worse bark,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 _He's angry, he's full of spite and snark,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 _He's known as the boogeyman,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 _And he does what only he can,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

 _._

 _As you stay close to those who you hold dear,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

 _._

 _As he sneakily sniffs out your every fear,_

 _he hides in the darkness, waiting to strike._

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 **St. Nick**

 _Do you hear the jolly jingle?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _Can you see that cheeky Dingle?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _Is it Christmas songs, so early in your head?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _Is it Christmas and you still can't get to bed?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _The cookie's on the table, you want to take a bite?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _And if you like your walls red, green and white?_

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _But this is not what Christmas is about._

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

 _._

 _It's the awe and joy that makes you shout._

 _That's Wonder for you, St. Nick is like this too._

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 **1,2,3 All the snowflakes fall**

 _They twirl and twist in the sky,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _Only for Jack will they fly,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _And when in winter time you look out the window,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _What you say to yourself, looking at all the snow,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _You know you can feel all the pent-up joy,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _And this is all, Jack Frost's sly, winter ploy,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _As you giggle in the angelic outlines in the snow and frost,_

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._

 _._

 _You know that for this all, you can thank Jack Frost._

 _1,2,3 all the snowflakes fall._


	2. Idioms

**Idioms**

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 **It Takes Two To Tango**

Note: This takes inspiration from an Imagine note, found online and a piece by another, more skilled writer. It is actually from Pitch's perspective, where he tries to capture someone's attention, but currently... well, you'll see.

 _I search for someone,_

 _here on the floor,_

 _a partner to dance with_

 _what could you want more?_

 _._

 _Smiles and gestures,_

 _that's all you give._

 _Then you push me away,_

 _moving on,_

 _from one man to another,_

 _like a bee from a flower._

 _But don't you know,_

 _don't you understand?_

 _That this is a dance for two._

 _._

 _This is a game_

 _not just for me to play._

 _There is no one winner,_

 _there is no loser,_

 _not if you play it properly._

 _._

 _Yet, all you give me,_

 _are signs and promises._

 _Gestures and smiles._

 _But don't you know,_

 _it takes two to tango?_

 _._

 _Is it because I'm clumsy?_

 _Is it because the words_

 _don't form the way_

 _I want them to?_

 _._

 _Is it because_

 _I have my own style?_

 _I follow a different rhythm, darling._

 _._

 _And I've been trying,_

 _to practice your little dance._

 _To perfect the twist and turns._

 _To smile back._

 _But it takes two to tango_

 _and you'll practice too,_

 _or trip up._

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 **T_T**

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 **Devil's Advocate**

Note: Probably not as imaginative, no. In fact, full of hate. E. Aster Bunnymund's hate. We all know what he's said to Pitch and he won't hesitate to say it again.

 _Did they ever ask,_

 _before they pillaged my land?_

 _Did they ever seek,_

 _forgiveness for their crimes?_

 _._

 _You wonder why I hate them,_

 _all of them,_

 _those little buggers._

 _Stinky rats they are,_

 _spreading poison,_

 _sending hope down the drain._

 _._

 _You present me,_

 _a devil instead of apologies._

 _You present him an advocate?_

 _._

 _And not me?_

 _._

 _The death of thousands_

 _echoes within my heart._

 _I hear the cries of terror,_

 _every day in my sleep._

 _Yet, you will sue me?_

 _._

 _The villain_

 _can blame me all he wants._

 _Lucifer's silver tongue_

 _won't best me._

 _._

 _He's a bag of rats_

 _and you expect me_

 _to pity and feel sorry_

 _for the devil himself?_

 _._

 _No._

 _Should I care?_

 _Should I stand in shadows;_

 _mourning his losses,_

 _when he is the savage_

 _and I am the victim?_

 _._

 _Dare you tell me,_

 _not to attack a demon?_

 _._

 _If he's dead,_

 _so what of it?_

 _Humiliation,_

 _I've suffered too._

 _._

 _Pitch,_

 _now I send this humiliation,_

 _this_ _misery to you._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 **T_T**

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 **Caught Between Two Stools**

Note: This takes shortly after Rise of the Guardians. Jack is contemplating about his choices... I'm sure you've all been in a tight spot.

 _Have I chosen well?_

 _I could ask the moon;_

 _for all the answer's he'd give,_

 _there would likely be few_

 _and far in between._

 _._

 _In cold, blistering winds,_

 _to which I am long numb,_

 _I've listened to sorrows,_

 _pouring out of hearts._

 _I've shut one door_

 _and squeezed through a window._

 _But am I in the right room?_

 _._

 _I've watched people I care for,_

 _fall into peril._

 _I've done what it takes,_

 _to be who I am._

 _Do I not deserve_

 _the joys that I've been given?_

 _For all the sacrifices_

 _that it has regretfully taken?_

 _._

 _I stand between two paths,_

 _stuck between two stools,_

 _looking at the heroes,_

 _then back into the darkness._

 _._

 _I've been there -_

 _not just looking through a window._

 _Years of solitude._

 _Darkness._

 _I've risen high, having fallen low._

 _Not many have, but I've come this far._

 _Though was this where I was meant to end?_

 _._

 _I search back,_

 _into spools of melancholic pictures,_

 _then laughter and joy._

 _What I have made_

 _and created for._

 _But sometimes there's a feeling,_

 _in all of us._

 _Is this our real meaning?_

 _._

 _Am I really supposed to be the hero?_

 _Selfish, arrogant, ignorant?_

 _Should I be here?_

 _In a room full of bias?_

 _They don't understand._

 _They've always been the heroes._

 _I'd like to think._

 _._

 _Perhaps, standing on that barren ledge._

 _Staring at the fall beneath._

 _I should have let myself fall into the abyss._

 _I would have._

 _It took so little to turn it around,_

 _for me to make up my mind._

 _But looking back..._

 _should I have let that opportunity,_

 _in the shadows, far behind?_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

T_T

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 **Back to the Drawing Board**

Note:

1) Stanza two isn't quite as fitting as the rest of the poem, but I tried.

2) Yes... it's another Pitch Black poem. However, it can be applied to any character.

 _I've tried you know,_

 _over and over._

 _Though I believe,_

 _I'll have to start over._

 _Without further ado;_

 _if it's all the same to you,_

 _it's time to go back,_

 _to the drawing board._

 _._

 _Again and again,_

 _falling from the sky,_

 _I come to an experimental,_

 _somewhat dark high._

 _Then I drop to the ground,_

 _limp against the rocks,_

 _no one can hear me,_

 _not a single sound._

 _._

 _My goal?_

 _The eventual masterpiece?_

 _The picture of_

 _my ultimate victory?_

 _What is the true meaning?_

 _What is the picture I'm painting?_

 _Is this a question you are_

 _honestly, genuinely asking?_

 _._

 _And I've tried._

 _I've varied the strokes,_

 _I've changed up the colours._

 _My canvas is new,_

 _yet again blank._

 _._

 _But that isn't what the audience sees._

 _To them, there's an ocean of black._

 _And it's the bleakness they hate._

 _It's the name of the artist._

 _Not the deeper meaning._

 _._

 _I sketch,_

 _one picture after another,_

 _drip feed them messages,_

 _the unwilling truth._

 _What I really wish for them to see._

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 _Am I doing something wrong?_

 _Is this art so restrictive?_

 _Is this world so selective?_

 _Are the blind_

 _to what lies beyond the cover?_

 _What speaks from under_

 _the surface?_

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 _No, I am not suggesting_

 _that this new drawing will be perfect._

 _But surely,_

 _they won't screech at least._

 _They won't glare the image down._

 _They won't criticise it_

 _to the very last line._

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 _So what_

 _if the tone is depressing?_

 _What I tried to paint was the truth,_

 _subtly ingrained into the darkest places._

 _With the finest brush,_

 _for painting from the heart,_

 _leaves a melancholic mind._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

T_T

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 **A Method To My Madness**

A/N - Tooth's turn, now. Hope this isn't getting dull, by the way. Oh, but who can get bored of madness?

 _Teeth, they're everywhere!_

 _They make_

 _my feathers stand on edge._

 _They alert my senses,_

 _impulses and alarms_

 _rattling through my blood,_

 _my heart,_

 _my very centre._

 _._

 _Of course,_

 _not everyone likes_

 _those perfectly white ivories._

 _I'm sure when they look at me,_

 _jittering with joy after_

 _another lost molar,_

 _their mind automatically worries_

 _about my mental health._

 _._

 _But there's a reason for my being,_

 _a reason for this madness._

 _Why I feel this need_

 _to collect and store_

 _teeth,_

 _is what makes this craze_

 _make sense._

 _._

 _In each little incisor,_

 _you'd be surprised to see,_

 _is something that requires me_

 _and I require it._

 _Because I am the guardian_

 _of every little memory,_

 _no matter how crazy,_

 _insignificant,_

 _or odd it may be._

 _._

 _There is a method to my madness,_

 _so open that little casket in your hands,_

 _and see for yourself._

 _Then you can dare to look at me._

 _._

 _Tell me, is it madness?_

 _Or a little quirk,_

 _that comes as a perk,_

 _to a job akin to dentistry?_

 _To be able to enjoy_

 _what I do,_

 _is after all,_

 _what makes me a guardian._

 _._

 _And what helps me,_

 _guide you to the meaning of_

 _your_ _own memories._

 _Your own joy._

 _Your little obsession,_

 _that little quirk,_

 _the method to the madness in your mind._


	3. Benefits & Pets

**A Robe With Benefits**

The constant struggle with getting underneath the surface frustrates any person who's had a relationship that ever got more physically intimate than kissing, cuddling and all that light stuff people get into when they're not quite feeling like getting laid. Perhaps it was one thing that had its benefits, every now and again, if you'd have preferred your partner not to rush things.

But for a spirit, such as Pitch Black, it was always the opposite that was a problem. Which was the reason why, when he didn't have problems with hooking up with someone in the first place, he viewed robes as a very positive thing.

Such a thing could be said for the instance where he found himself trapped against a wall with a scorching hot (figuratively speaking, of course) woman holding him hostage (also not literally). In all honesty, he still couldn't quite work out how on earth he had managed to acquire such a brilliant kisser, smooth talker and dancer extraordinaire, but he wasn't about to let her slip away from his fingertips.

He'd given in not too long ago, not worried about how this would turn out. It wasn't as if he needed to have worried about contraception - fat chance of impregnating anyone as a spirit if it's low enough for a mortal male and spirits were immune to a variety of disease, including most sexually transmitted ones; a piece of knowledge he'd gathered from another source - and he couldn't care less about her overenthusiastic nature. Ultimately, he would leave the leading to her, too exhausted to fight it. He didn't have anything to lose.

So... here he was, accepting the little nips that came along with her own kisses, returning the touches and slowly but surely shifting along the hallway, to the first free apartment. He could see the surprising amount of temptation and lust in her eyes that enough to put him off balance - the boogeyman.

"God, don't stop..." he heard her whisper breathlessly, as he trailed his lips along her neck, slowly closing in on the collar. A turn on for some, turn off for others. A turn on for this one, clearly, as she reached out to his chest, grasping the material of his robe. He stopped for a moment, deciding that it would be best to continue this inside the apartment, but clearly, this female had other things in mind... such as ridding him of his attire.

Hands frantically searched and pulled at the collar of his robe and he could hear her voice telling him to continue. Why shouldn't he comply with the lady's request? Of course, he knew that it wasn't proper and that karma was a bitch, but he'd only learn the full extent of this later. For now, he chose to get back to kissing her, as she traced his chest (quite provocatively, mind you), still whispering and moaning into his ear. And so it continued for at least five minutes, with him finding that he was less and less focused on getting to the apartment itself before they were both fully undressed with each kiss, each touch.

Then suddenly, a sound escaped him. The feathery touch of her fingers against his side - a very small area of his skin bared to her touch, one that wouldn't have normally been reachable - had elicited a strange sensation within him, one that he couldn't quite explain. A sharp gasp escaped him, as he shifted. She tried again though and he found himself desperately trying not to let his response surface.

She seemed to be amused now. Had he been looking at her strangely? This time, her fingers deliberately crawled over that small, sensitive part of his body, trying to stimulate his sense of touch. What escaped him then was becoming more and more like suppressed shrieks and laughs, as he tried to edge away from her.

She laughed, watching him quiver and shift, his face contorting with a mixture of emotions. "Ticklish?" she asked, teasingly. "You're ticklish!"

"N-no," he tried to dissuade her from the very thought, a humiliating proposal. How could she think of such an absurd-

"Ahah!" he shrieked, face turning crimson as she continued. "Ah-I'm not tick-ah-!"

She smirked, pulling him closer. "Just admit it!~"

"NO!" Realising he'd said it unnecessarily loud, he looked away, trying to push her from him. He shut his eyes, tight. No, this was not happening. He, the Nightmare King, the spirit of Fear, was not ticklish. But with each high-pitched shriek, laugh and giggle, it was more obvious that he was indeed affected by this.

"You're ticklish."~

He shook his head, holding his breath in. Never.

"Oh, come on, you were laughing too!"

He clenched his teeth, as the sensation wouldn't leave his side. It grew more an more irritating, constantly bugging him. Forcing out those unnatural noises out of him.

"Admit it," she ordered, determined to win this fight.

"Ahh- fine! I'm -aaah- ticklish!" he squeaked out between gasped and giggles, trying to hide away.

She didn't quite let him go, but the sensation left him. Leaning in, she pressed her lips against his, kissing him again, before backing away. "I guess your robes really do come with benefits," she joked a little, earning a flustered expression from Pitch.

* * *

 **My Pet Wind**

Jack Frost was said to have been all alone, for three hundred years. Well, that's a myth. Sure, Wind wasn't very talkative, but when needed, he could be a very cooperative companion.

Wind preferred to stay in silence, as most hares do, particularly the elemental ones. He stayed mostly invisible too, except for those times when it lent part of its solid form into Jack's animated creations, such as the rabbit he had formed for Jamie. He would watch from a distance, hopping about when not needed and when required, he would be there before you could say dandelions.

Wind was an ancient spirit, one of the many veteran spirits of air. He held no known centre and lived most of Jack's power, in a symbiotic fashion; protecting Jack and helping him reach his goal, to get a share of the energy. And when it came to protecting him, he was known to scare off dogs too. Dogs could see him. Animals always could. But spirits...? Nah. Except for Jack.

Yup, Jack gave the best ear-scratches ever...

Currently, in his solid form, the hare stood by Jack. The teenager was kneeling down, rubbing and stroking the spirit of the air, smiling a little to himself. "I'm really a Guardian!" Jack exclaimed, seemingly not believing it. Wind only nodded in acknowledgement, closing his eyes. What else could he have expected? "I can't believe it - I'm really a Guardian."

A smile tugged at the spirit's jaw, but he refused to show it. What joy should he hold for this spirit? One day, he would forget. They all forget about those who had lent them their powers. And why should he, as the spirit of the air, care? He got a profit from it. That was what made most stand by in silence, continuously lending their powers and abilities to their allocated spirits, only for the purpose of not going extinct entirely. Yet, could that ever be considered truly living? Without any recognition, without the soft, affectionate touches and words from friendly figures?

Jack had so many other spirits. But Windchaser only had Jack. It had taken him so long - almost too long - to find Jack. Someone who he could care for and who would care for him in return. Who he could mess around with, pull pranks and win battles. Who he could guide and who could guide him. He was the one to teach Jack Frost to use a staff in the first place. He was the one who would cheer him up.

And now that Jack had the Guardians...

Now...

"-But you'll still be my closest friend, Wind," Jack cut off his thoughts, stroking the hare's neck. Slowly, the doubts dissipated.

'My pet Wind,' Jack thought, with a smile. 'I'll never forget you.'

* * *

 **Well, this is it for another chapter, this one made up of drabbles. I hope you've enjoyed these two pieces and are not too discomforted by the first one.**


	4. Fear & Frost

**You Think That You Know**

 _._

 _He who seeks vengeance;_

 _he with no hope of repentance;_

 _he who sleeps on cold ground;_

 _he who creeps making no sound._

 _._

 _He who hides in the shadows;_

 _he who lives in the forest of hallows;_

 _he who gathers by the moon at midnight,_

 _he who seeks shelter from morning light._

 _._

 _Oh, he is a man too,_

 _but not as me and you._

 _Oh, but he is a being, live like you and me,_

 _in spite of the flaws, he has that he cannot see._

 _._

 _He who glares stares and glowers;_

 _he who avoids the sun like rain showers;_

 _he who long for a dark veil above the land,_

 _he who stays trapped in time's memory sand._

 _._

 _He who fights with cold in his heart;_

 _he who's been broken and torn apart;_

 _he who holds fears and feared he is;_

 _he who isn't alone to blame for this._

 _Oh, he has character, personality,_

 _and feels tired, ruined lonely._

 _Oh, he too is with little hope and trust,_

 _for we've made his faith rot and rust._

 _._

 _He who battles hopelessly outnumbered;_

 _he who remains forgotten never remembered;_

 _he who loves only to end up being hated;_

 _he who has an unlikely hunger to be sated._

 _._

 _He who has lost time and time and time again,_

 _he who has seen deaths of women and of men._

 _He who has wandered around with nothing to find,_

 _He whose losses we will constantly, cruelly remind..._

 _._

 _Oh, there is so much to his story,_

 _so much we will never know for which we'll never worry._

 _And really, we should feel sorry_

 _for someone who knows more sorrow than we'll ever carry._

 _._

 _You only think that you know,_

 _but do you really?_

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 **-vMv-**

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 **Blaming Fun**

It is a smile he spreads,

though winter everyone dreads; overlooks.

I think what really spooks

is the cold within nooks and frost

through which lives are often lost.

But that's sometimes the cost we pay

to live a single day

on the edge of the fray for fun.

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